To Lie with Lions - Dorothy Dunnett [69]
Three years before, on the verge of her marriage to Nicholas, Gelis had slipped into Scotland to finish her tour as maid of honour to the King’s sister Mary, the Countess of Arran. She had made some friends, but not many, for she knew what she was going to do. And now everyone knew. This arrival, arranged with such flamboyance, might turn out to be as uncomfortable for Nicholas de Fleury as it was for herself. No honest woman, about to be promised to a man she respected, would have taken Simon de St Pol as a lover.
The priest knew it, and le Grant: both looked sober. The senior nurse, too, looked sedate, although Pasque was hopping on her elderly feet with excitement. Crackbene, in expert control of the landfall, gave an impression of suppressed satisfaction. Oddly, Nicholas conveyed the same sense. In immaculate black and white, with the chain of the Unicorn across the width of his shoulders, he was scanning the river-bank as he had scanned the shore of the estuary. His gaze, far from apprehensive, was proprietorial.
Then they were over the bar, and in due course the ship’s boat was lowered to take them to the wharf. Gelis had taken her seat with the child when Nicholas, smiling, bent and scooped up the boy, saying, ‘Come, Courtibaut, there is a better view over here.’ The child put its arms round his neck.
‘It is natural,’ said Mistress Clémence at her side. ‘Fathers are proud. You have left your arm unbound?’
‘It is much better,’ Gelis said; and then wished she had answered her differently, for the nurse had meant well. Gelis had abandoned her sling because she was Gelis van Borselen, kin to the princes of Scotland and Burgundy, and soliciting pity from no one.
The boat touched the jetty timbers and Nicholas held it steady, the child on his shoulder, while the rope was secured. He let Crackbene guide his wife up the steps. His page followed. The child smiled at her as she passed and so did her husband: two liberal smiles, one of them genuine; two pairs of grey eyes, one of them freely affectionate.
Nicholas said, ‘What a pity you don’t have a hennin.’ She didn’t know what he meant. It was a private joke, the kind he made for himself, and sometimes against himself, and sometimes very much against her. She made no reply but, reaching the top of the steps, waited for him, the page at her side.
The wharf had been recently paved. She saw a line of new sheds and a crane. At the end, a gate had been opened and a great many people seemed to be standing there. Behind them, she had an impression of riding horses and liveried servants. A man, separating from the crowd, was making his way without haste towards them.
Nicholas, arriving noiselessly, set the child on its feet, retaining the grasp of one of its hands and directing the other to Gelis. ‘Smile,’ he said. ‘Unless you really dislike him.’
She had thought it would be Govaerts his factor. Instead, she saw the noble features and soldierly bearing of Jamie Liddell, a man she knew well from Bruges. Sir James Liddell of Halkerston, steward to the King’s brother Alexander, Duke of Albany. Which meant …
She looked at Nicholas, but he was already exchanging greetings; indicating her, indicating the child. Liddell, smiling, bowed to her and went on talking to Nicholas. ‘You are none the worse of the journey? There is a perfect army ridden here to give you a welcome, my lord Duke has not the temerity to deny them. Speak to them quickly if you can. He owes me money.’
‘Where …?’ said Nicholas. As they looked, the crowd shifted, revealing the sparkle of armour and behind it a group of horses harnessed in velvet. The flag which hung over the group was the royal standard.
Liddell said, ‘He’ll probably take you to the Wark. Your lady can go straight into town with the boy. But, of course, meet your friends on the way. You see how pleased we are to have you returned.’ He smiled and walked past, she heard him greeting Crackbene, and being introduced